A/N: I love The Pirate Queen. I've never seen the full show, but I love the story and the characters... I just couldn't leave them alone once they started growing in my mind. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
One look at Rockfleet and Grania knew that her life would never be the same.
The great stone structure jutted up out of the landscape like a stark black tower, a pillar rising to the heavens, asserting its presence over the flat land. It was not like her father's castle in Clew Bay. Her home there had been bright and sunny, warm and inviting. Rockfleet looked like a great windowless prison. She could see how it was a fearsome battlement, built to keep intruders out – or inhabitants trapped inside.
Had it not been for the wedding party on her heels, she might have stopped to fully take it all in, but they relentlessly herded her on, giving her no time to process. Donal was no help either – not that she expected him to be – practically pulling her along with his arm looped through hers.
"Why are you dragging your feet?" he hissed at her, the smell of alcohol strong on his breath.
"I'm not," she shot back, tearing her gaze from the imposing fortress and keeping pace beside him.
He rolled his eyes but mercifully said nothing as they continued, making the rest of the journey in silence.
When they reached the great doors of Rockfleet at last, the wedding party gave up one final cheer, congratulating them both on their marriage and wishing them well one last time. The women gathered around her, crying tears of happiness and telling her how beautiful a bride she was and not to be worried and offering blessings of fertility. Grania smiled and endured it, playing the part of a bride as she had all day. She could have done without that last part though…
Then just as suddenly, the well-wishers were gone, heading back to their own homes and lodgings and leaving the two of them alone for the first time. An uneasiness formed in the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it away, looking one last time at the departing guests, wishing they'd come back.
Donal reached for her then, tugging her to him and attempting to scoop her up in his arms. Despite her shock, she quickly twisted out of his grasp, pushing him away from her.
"What are you doing?"
Donal looked at her as if she were mad. "Carrying my bride across the threshold – what do you think I'm doing?"
"I don't need to be carried!" she insisted. "I have legs."
"Suit yourself," he shrugged and, taking her arm, proceeded to lead her up the steps and inside without a word.
The whole of the castle was dark, lit only by sparse torches along the wall. Overall, it gave off a gloomy air. Grania shivered.
"My lord," a single attendant stood just inside. "Welcome home – to you and your new wife."
"Yes, thank you," Donal said dismissively. "We will not be requiring anything tonight. I would appreciate it if we were not disturbed."
"O-of course," the woman stammered, a faint blush on her cheeks. Grania smiled at her, though she was not sure the other woman saw it in the darkness of the room. "Goodnight, then, my lord. My lady."
With a slight bow, the woman made her exit, slipping down a dark corridor swathed in shadows.
"Who was that?" Grania turned her eyes on Donal.
"Just one of the servants. You'll meet her later, I'm sure. Now come on."
With another tug on her arm, he led her beyond the main hall to a twisting flight of stairs. Grania followed silently, noting as they passed the tiny windows, thinking how they would allow archers to make a steady onslaught against an oncoming enemy. This was a mighty fortress, this dark place she was now to call home.
Once up the stairs, Donal brought her to the last door on the left at the end of a long hallway. He opened it and bowed gallantly for her, stumbling a bit at the sudden shift in his own equilibrium.
Ignoring his theatricality, Grania stepped past him into the bedchamber that they were to share. It looked nice enough. A welcoming fire roared in the hearth, lighting the room, and casting shadows on the large ornate bed. She steeled herself at the sight of it, knowing what came next.
Behind her, Donal shut the door with a resounding slam. She started, despite herself, and whirled around to see a grin on that smug face of his.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you."
"You don't scare me, Donal O'Flaherty," she retorted, satisfied she sounded braver than she felt.
"Good," he let his eyes scan over her. "Turn around."
"Why?"
"Just do it, woman!" he sighed, exasperated.
Grania complied, turning slowly, feeling more and more like a prize cow than a wife. He said nothing and made no move towards her for what felt like a long time. She didn't know what he was waiting for.
"Well?" she snapped.
"I was just thinking – isn't it funny the amount of work it takes to trap a woman into a dress?" he chuckled softly, coming up behind her and sweeping her hair off her neck and over her shoulder, exposing the ties and laces of her dress. "But this is not my first time undressing a woman… You will find that I am a skilled lover…" he whispered, close to her ear, the scent of whiskey still heavy on his breath.
Grania swallowed hard, biting back a sudden wave of bile that rose in her throat. His hands, now picking at the laces of her dress, felt wrong. Everything about this was wrong. She was not a bride. She was not fit to be a wife any more than Donal was fit to be a husband. She was wrong for this and he was wrong for her. He would never be right, if for no other reason than the fact that she did not love him. But this is what she had chosen. For her people, for her land, she willingly gave herself in marriage to him. She chose to focus on that and pushed any thought of those she'd left behind out of her mind.
Now that she was unlaced, Grania turned and stepped out of the dress. When she lifted her eyes, she saw Donal staring at her hungrily, lust darkening his gaze as he raked his eyes over her. She stood tall and proud, not wanting to show weakness for even an instant, as he circled her, like a bird of prey, inspecting her now that she was naked before him.
"You are a beauty, Grania O'Flaherty…" he said, stopping in front of her.
"O'Malley," she corrected, her chin high.
"No matter what you call yourself," he leaned his head towards her and whispered, "you are still my wife."
He advanced then and she uncharacteristically retreated. She hadn't even realized she'd done it until the backs of her legs hit the bed, causing her to sway and topple dangerously. She maintained her balance, though – until a tiny push from him sent her sprawling backwards in an ungainly manner.
He laughed. "Better get comfortable."
She scooted back towards the headboard, glaring at him as he started to remove his clothing. She turned her attention to the blankets then, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her attention, but still managed to catch a glimpse of him. She felt a twinge of fear she was unaccustomed to. As the only woman living in close quarters among a crew of sailors, she had seen a man's body before, but the sight of Donal looming before her caused an unwelcome apprehension to grow within her.
His clothes in a heap on the floor, he followed her into the bed and climbed over top of her. Spreading her legs – and she had to fight to keep from squeezing them tightly shut – he knelt between them.
"You tremble… Cold? Or frightened?"
"Neither. You keep asking if I'm scared," she raised an eyebrow. "Do I have reason to be?"
"I'm told brides often are, but don't worry. It's not really as bad as they say," he grinned wolfishly. "You might actually enjoy yourself."
"We'll see…"
He ran his hands over her body then, touching her in ways new and unfamiliar, in places that she'd never let another man touch, not even Tiernan. He seemed to be enjoying himself, she supposed, for he had a satisfied smirk on his face. Perhaps it was at the promise of pleasure to come. She suppressed a shudder. Or perhaps it was just because he thought he was winning, that he was more powerful than her. He'd find out soon enough that she was a force to be reckoned with.
His mouth soon joined his hands in his perusal of her, working down her neck and shoulder. She breathed heavily, but did not stop him. Perhaps if she just let him do what he wanted with her, it would be over faster. Please, God, she prayed, let it be over faster.
There was no tenderness in his touch as he suddenly pressed his body fully into hers in one swift motion. A small sound escaped Grania's throat as she accommodated a man for the first time, pain burning between her legs.
It did not escape his notice.
"It appears you were innocent after all," Donal murmured, speaking to her for the first time since he'd begun.
"Of course," she bit out. "You expected different?"
"I had wondered… but it doesn't matter now…"
He kept going, without a thought towards her, and Grania just wanted it to be over. She gripped the blankets, hands curling into fists in an effort to keep from pushing him away.
"Relax," he instructed, panting.
How could she relax when he was doing what he was doing? The pain she'd originally felt was beginning to subside now, making it a little easier to do so. She closed her eyes and turned her head, struggling to take a deep breath. She refused to let him know what he was doing to her. She wouldn't allow herself to be broken. Not even in this.
When she dared to open her eyes, she saw his face hovering above hers. Sweat dotted his brow and he had an intense look on his face that made him seem miles away. She couldn't continue looking at him. It would make the situation too real. She stared at the ceiling instead, counting the planks above her, looking for cobwebs, anything to get her mind off what was happening. It wasn't altogether bad – but it certainly wasn't all good.
And then, almost as quickly as it began, it was suddenly over. He slumped on top of her, his weight crushing and smothering the breath from her lungs. Just as she was about to push him away, he raised himself off of her. Grunting, he left her body and flopped down beside her on the mattress. He lay there, breathing heavily for a moment, before rolling over and going to sleep. He never spoke a word to her.
Grania lay awake, fighting hot, unasked-for tears. When she agreed to marry him, she'd known that their relationship would never be what she'd always imagined marriage to be, but she hadn't thought that it would feel quite like this. She had expected it to be difficult and awkward and not at all what she wanted, yes, but she'd never dreamed… She hadn't thought she'd feel this way. She felt used, dirty – more like a whore than a new bride.
He'd never even kissed her.
Not that she wanted him to, of course, but she would have liked him to at least acknowledge her. There had been no gentleness in the way he took her. It had been all about him, how he felt, what brought him pleasure. There was no attempt at connecting with her whatsoever, except for in the basest, most physical way.
He began to snore and she looked at him with disgust. On top of everything else, she had to deal with snoring. Rolling away from him, she drew the blanket closer about herself and lay there shivering, praying that this was not what she had to look forward to for the rest of her life.
She could do nothing other than hope that things would not be so bleak in the morning.